She gave the details in full to Lady Hanbury, feeling perhaps just a little too proud of herself, before she allowed her attention to wonder just a little. Since she had been speaking to Lord Marchmount for some time, she had been just too intent on the task at hand to allow herself to make any sort of study of the other guests.
But the moment she relaxed, she very quickly saw that Heath Montgomery was no more than a few yards away, deep in conversation it would seem, with his mother and Lord Jeremy Ravenswood.
Even though her thoughts had wandered a little, Imogen had still been able to give Lady Hanbury a very full account, and one that the good lady was entirely satisfied with. In no time at all, Lady Rossington had fluttered over to join them, and Imogen found herself greatly relieved that Lady Hanbury immediately embarked upon the tale, giving a very faithful account of the conversation between Imogen and the elderly Earl.
Imogen had to admit being grateful for Lady Hanbury’s excited recital of the facts, for it gave her a moment’s respite from it all. And she also found herself making a detailed and private study of the Earl of Reddington.
She could tell by his curious expression that the conversation he was having with his mother and Lord Ravenswood was not one that he was enjoying. It seemed to her that he looked as if he suspected them of something, and she wondered what that might be. Of course, she knew it was nothing to her, and she dismissed her interest as idle curiosity.
However, she continued to look at him from time to time, thinking that he did stand out from everybody else. Of course, he was inordinately tall and broad and the sort of man who was very easy to pick out in a crowd.
But there was something else as well, and Imogen found herself having to admit that the Duke was a very handsome man. Although he was six or perhaps seven years older than she, he still had something of a youthful look about him. Undoubtedly it was the fact that he had not a care in the world, nor a conscience to trouble him when he climbed into his bed to sleep at night.
She did not doubt that conscience more than likely aged a person prematurely. Either way, it did not seem to be affecting Heath Montgomery if his well-kept and handsome features were anything to go by.
As Imogen had studied the little party in more depth, she smiled to herself when she saw dear Lady Prudence. She was chattering happily and looked very pretty in a pale lemon gown. However, Imogen’s smile faded instantly the moment she set eyes upon Miss Jemima Ravenswood. There was something about the young woman which unsettled her and made her ill at ease. Her open rudeness had been unforgivable, but there was an air about Miss Ravenswood that suggested that she would always like to get her own way. After all, as demure as she tried to look, she had been the young lady who had the audacity to turn on her heel and walk away, fully expecting that the Countess of Reddington would follow her, not to mention her son, the Earl.
Of course, Imogen knew exactly how ruthless ambitious young ladies could be, and she did not doubt for a moment that Miss Jemima Ravenswood was a fine example of the type.
“Lady Pennington, is it not?” A somewhat booming voice startled her a little, and she felt as if she had been caught in the act of spying on the Earl and his family and friends.
She looked up sharply, and her eyes widened to see the Duke of Dalton standing before her.
“Yes, Your Grace,” she said and inclined her head politely. “Yes, I am Lady Imogen Pennington.”
“Yes, I thought I had remembered it correctly. But do forgive me, the more people one invites, the speedier one’s greetings become, and I am often a little too rushed to remember everybody’s names.”
“You have no need for concern on this occasion, Your Grace because you have my name most exactly.” Imogen smiled politely but wondered why the Duke had made his way to her.
However, in the end, she had dismissed it as politeness. She thought he had most likely been circulating amongst his guests throughout the entire afternoon, and she was undoubtedly not the first person he had come upon in such a manner and with such words.
“And tell me, Lady Pennington, how are you enjoying your afternoon here in my garden?”
“Very well indeed, Your Grace,” Imogen said with feeling, thinking of her extremely fruitful conversation with the Earl of Marchmount. When she looked back upon the thing, she wondered if she had not been, perhaps, just a little too enthusiastic in her response.
“I am very pleased to hear that,” he said and seemed to look at her with an intensity she was not entirely comfortable with.
But, of course, he was the Duke, and the only people around him of greater title were generally Monarchy. For the most part, she thought he must live a life without any crisis of confidence or feelings of inferiority. And his adherence to the strict rules of etiquette could ebb and flow at his own will without exciting scorn of any kind. He was a Duke, and that was that.
“And your gardens really are very beautiful, Your Grace. The camellias are particularly fine.”
“And they are quite my favourite, Lady Pennington. That is why I insist on having so many of them.”
“Your head gardener must be a man of extraordinary skill.”
“Not only skill but determination,” he said and began to laugh. “The determination to see to it that never a bloom from this garden ever finds its way into the mansion. He guards them quite ferociously.”
Lady Hanbury and Lady Rossington, both highly amused, joined in the laughter, and Imogen thought the Duke was very pleased with it.
“Really, I know that gardeners do have a reputation for being territorial, but my head gardener must surely be the most determined in all of London.” As the ladies laughed, the Duke seemed to enjoy himself all the more.
“Lady Pennington, would you allow me to show you the very finest of my camellias? They are but one terrace away, over there, look, just down the next stone steps.”
“Yes, I should be delighted, Your Grace,” Imogen said, realizing that she had no interest but knowing that she would have to indulge her host.
“If you would excuse us, ladies.” The Duke smiled warmly at Lady Rossington and Lady Hanbury and found himself instantly excused and forgiven by the two adoring middle-aged ladies.
As they walked, the Duke crooked his arm in her direction so that she might rest her hand there, and although the thing was quite normal, Imogen did not particularly like it.
“Do you live in London, Lady Pennington, or are you just here for the Season?”
“I am just here for the Season. I live in Hertfordshire, Your Grace.”
“Quite so. So, is this Season turning out to be everything you hoped it would be?”
“Indeed, it is. I am raising funds, you see, for a charitable cause, and I have found myself most successful today,” Imogen said. Just the thought of her success changed her tone into a much brighter one.
“Tell me, who is your father?” he asked, speaking as if he had not heard a word she said.
“Lord Ronald Pennington, Your Grace.” She smiled weakly when she saw no hint of recognition on his face. “He is not much in London, Your Grace, choosing always to stay in the country. I do not think that your paths will have crossed.”
“Quite so,” he said cheerfully. “But he has escorted you here for the Season?”
“No, Your Grace. I am staying with my dear friend, Lady Adeline Redmond.” She smiled when she saw the faint flicker of recognition on his face, although it was tinged with a little confusion. “She is my colleague, if you will, in matters of charity work. In fact, we have come to London this Season with some plans of our own and to raise funds.” She thought it worth trying again.
“Redmond,” he said, squinting at the camellias as he tried to retrieve the name. “Oh yes, my father and Lady Redmond’s husband were acquainted. Rather well, I believe.”
“Yes, I believe so,” Imogen said and thought it would be easier to forget any idea of interesting him in her work. Especially since it seemed to her that he was either not listening t
o a word she said, or he was choosing to ignore it all.
“And what do you think of these?” he said, nodding at the camellias with pride.
By the time Imogen had finished telling her tale, tea had already arrived. Adeline had poured her a cup, and Imogen finally reached for it.
“Well, there is hardly anything in what you say to suggest his particular interest,” Adeline said hopefully. “But, of course, he might not have shown any other lady present to his prize camellias.”
“I have no idea, but I found myself trapped in his company for some time.”
“And was he so terrible?” Adeline said, wrinkling her nose at the idea.
“No, he was just, how can I put it? He was tedious.” Imogen paused when Adeline let out a snort of laughter. “He really was. And he was not interested in anything I had to say.”
“I suppose that is the self-importance of great title,” Adeline said. “Which is why we must think very seriously about how to proceed.”
“Yes, I suppose we must.”
Chapter 16
Heath had been most determined to attend the afternoon event in the drawing room of Lord and Lady Castleton. Initially, his mother had not been particularly keen, thinking it not much of a social event and deciding that she would like a little rest from all the excitement.
However, when he told her that he felt certain that Lord Castleton and the Duke of Dalton had become firm friends of late, Veronica Montgomery very quickly changed her mind. And for some reason, Heath quite despised her for it. Despite having a title of her own, and secretly pouring scorn on those beneath her who sought to ingratiate themselves, the Countess of Reddington was no stranger to very similar behaviour.
She had spent a good deal of the Duke’s garden party looking around to see where the man was, clearly hoping that he would spend enough time with her and her own family to make the rest of the guests remark upon the thing. And, ordinarily, Heath would not have noticed particularly. But something seemed to be changing, and he found such behaviour somewhat shallow and inconsequential. It was all a little bit distasteful to him, and he wondered what had changed to make him see things with such brutal clarity.
When the Countess had seen the Duke walking away with Lady Imogen Pennington holding his arm, she had become incensed.
“Really, who does that dreadful woman think she is?” His mother had spoken just a little too loudly for his liking, as he had heard her exclamation before he and Prudence had re-joined the group.
“Mother,” he said in quiet and chastising tones.
“Well, it is not as if her father holds great title or influence, is it?”
“As I understand it, Lord Pennington is not particularly interested in either,” he said, unable to stop himself not only rising to the defense of Imogen’s father but giving away the fact that he had made some little inquiries into her family.
“Is that so?” Veronica Montgomery, as shrewd and as sharp as a hawk, had immediately picked up on it.
“Yes,” he said, not keen to explain himself. “That is as I hear it.” He held his mother’s gaze and hoped that she could see the challenge in his eyes.
“Well, perhaps he will soon return her to Lady Rossington and Lady Hanbury,” Jemima Ravenswood spoke in a voice that was as clear as crystal and as sharp as cut glass. “Particularly if she starts to tell him the tedious details of her charity work and her tawdry and unseemly visit to the workhouse in Lambeth, of all the awful places.” Jemima gave a laugh that was neat, pretty, and entirely spiteful.
They had not discussed Lady Imogen much since the first weeks of the London Season, and he wondered how it was that Jemima Ravenswood was aware that Lady Pennington had, indeed, visited the workhouse in Lambeth. After all, it was hardly the talk of London, and the only ones sure to know it were the people she had discussed it with when trying to press them for support.
The idea that Jemima Ravenswood had come upon the information unsettled him a little, although he could not say why. Had she looked into the thing? Had she made her own inquiries into the everyday matters of Lady Imogen Pennington just as he himself had done? But why?
For himself, Heath had spent a miserable hour and had been unable to enjoy the rest of the garden party. Even when he saw that the Duke had released Imogen, still he tormented himself a little in wondering what conversation they might have had, and what the Duke’s intentions towards her might be.
Of course, the Duke of Dalton was a man who had made his way to five and thirty without deciding upon a wife. It was widely speculated that he was a selfish man who enjoyed his leisure pursuits, giving little thought to any idea of producing an heir. There were even some who said it mattered not to Nathaniel Carswell whether he sired a heir or not; as long as the life he lived was full and enjoyable, he thought little of future generations. Of course, that might well have been simple gossip; there was always gossip about men in his position who had seemingly chosen to remain unmarried.
Of course, Heath was perfectly well aware that the Duke very likely enjoyed the company of many and various women without the benefits or ties of matrimony. And the idea that he might view Lady Imogen as just such a woman made his hands ball into fists as they rested uselessly at his sides.
By the time the garden party had concluded, Heath had not only been very much out of sorts, but he had allowed his behaviour to display it most clearly. He noticed how Jemima Ravenswood regarded him with close attention, but he did not care to hide his low mood.
However, the moment he saw Miss Ravenswood again on entering the drawing room in Lord Castleton’s smart Regent’s Park townhouse, she seemed to be at ease with herself once more and smiled at him brightly.
“Good afternoon, Miss Ravenswood,” he said and smiled as if he had behaved perfectly the last time they had seen one another.
“Good afternoon, Lord Reddington. I am very much looking forward to this afternoon, are you not?” she said and rested her cool blue eyes on his.
“Oh yes, indeed I am,” he said, although he felt somewhat apprehensive.
From the moment he had walked into the drawing room, he had immediately noticed Lady Pennington and Lady Redmond in conversation with two ladies he did not recognize. They were all seated on ornately carved and padded couches around a low table, talking animatedly.
Imogen looked relaxed and engaged all at once, and he thought the ladies in her company must surely be most interested in the activities of her and Lady Redmond.
With his mother and Lord Ravenswood, not to mention Miss Ravenswood herself, trying to hold his attention and studying him intently, he could only allow his eyes to flick towards Lady Pennington now and again, or he would risk discovery.
However, he could clearly see that she was dressed in a plain cream gown, the fabric of which had been embroidered with silken threads. Her hair, although simply put up, gleamed as always, its vibrant red hue seeming to draw his eye and hold his attention.
As his company continued in what he thought a very dull conversation, Heath did his best to add to it now and again. However, he felt overly alert, his attention darting around the room for any sign of the Duke of Dalton. He could only hope that, if the man did attend, he would find his interests drawn elsewhere and leave Imogen alone.
Heath thought back to his sister’s words of just days before, warning him not to deny his feelings. And he felt sure that he had done just that from the very first. Surely Imogen had always interested him, from the moment he had first met her at the ball held by Lady Hanbury in Belgravia. After all, it had been Heath who had almost forced his way into the conversation the ladies had been having and, whilst he knew Lady Hanbury well, he had not been introduced to the curious flame-haired young woman who spoke so intently to her company. And he had known himself to be rude and hectoring, and yet he had wanted to secure an introduction to her at any cost.
And, of course, finding her a most formidable opponent in verbal discourse from the very first, he had delighted in seeking h
er out wherever he could. She had been easily spotted in Vauxhall Gardens on the night of the fireworks; the light of so many lamps had reflected from her rich red hair, and he had seen her immediately. And he could not help goading her the moment he saw her, telling himself that she was haughty and overconfident and could do with a lesson or two. But, of course, it had been she who had taught him the first of the lessons, and not the other way around.
Their conversation at Rotten Row had sobered him and halted his little game. He had seen that there was more to her than charitable over-exuberance. She was not a dilettante woman of good works, nor someone who sought to give herself a purpose in life by wallowing in the misfortunes of others and making herself a most important benefactor. If he was honest, this was largely Heath’s prior knowledge of charitable ladies.
A Lady for the Brazen Earl: A Historical Regency Romance Book Page 13